


The Only Thing To Fear

by bananasandroses (achuislemochroi)



Series: Whofic [27]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 2X11 (Fear Her), Character Study, F/M, Introspection, Romance, Tenth Doctor Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-12
Updated: 2009-09-12
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:17:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1594640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achuislemochroi/pseuds/bananasandroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If the only thing he has to <i>fear</i> is fear itself, will the Doctor be brave enough to go for what he’s wanted for so long?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

  
_“So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself”_  
Franklin Delano Roosevelt's first Inaugural Address, 4 March 1933.  


He is being clingy, and he knows he is.

But he tells himself over and over again that it's entirely justified in order to keep her safe - and to keep that prediction of the Beast's, the one that chills him to his marrow because of the sheer likelihood of its occurrence (given the way of life she leads because of him), from ever coming true.

He cannot tell her how it frightens him, because he doesn't want to frighten _her_. But one of these days, either someday soon or years from now, he will not be quick enough. Will not reach her in time. Will not be able to sweet talk his way out of whatever situation they have themselves entangled in.

He'll be all right. _Isn't he always?_ He can regenerate after almost anything that happens to him, after all - but she won't. And, every time he lets himself think about it, the fear and the guilt and everything else mushrooms around him until it feels as if they're going to choke him. He's lost count of the number of times he's dreamt that he's lost her through his own fault. The dreams come so often now and each time they happen he finds it harder and harder to let her out of his sight.

She hasn't commented on it. Yet. Well, barring the occasional odd look in his direction when he's being particularly unreasonable. But he knows that it can't stay how it is for very much longer; she's too much her mother's daughter for him to hope for _that_. The fact he is in love with her doesn't help in the slightest; especially now that he suspects she may well have guessed how he feels about her.

Rose shifts slightly in her sleep, and he cuts off his melancholy train of thought and turns instead to the array of bleeping machines that tell him she's recovering from the 'adventure' they'd had on Rekpar a day or so ago. That had been his fault, too, in a manner of speaking: he'd been so busy flirting heatedly with Rose that he simply hadn't noticed that the console was flashing a mauve warning at him. And look where _that_ has got them. Still, he reasons, dragging his eyes off Rose's sleeping form and shaking himself out of his melancholy long enough to concentrate on what he is supposed to be doing, there's no point in his crying about it now. He'll just have to be more careful next time, that's all.

He smoothes her hair back from her forehead, ignoring the way his hands are shaking slightly. Before moving away, he drops a gentle kiss where his hands have been. He'll make it up to her, he promises himself, frowning as his gaze clocks a monitor reading that isn't giving him the results he's looking for. When she's well again he'll take her somewhere special as a treat. Somewhere where he - they - can relax a little. Somewhere they can watch other people running for a change.

An Olympics would suit, wouldn't it? One in Rose's time period too. Oh! Of _course_ ; London, 2012.

_Perfect_.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta: The marvellous [](http://glory-jean.livejournal.com/profile)[**glory_jean**](http://glory-jean.livejournal.com/)  
>  A/N: Written for the Time in Flux ficathon at [](http://doctor-rose-fic.livejournal.com/profile)[**doctor_rose_fic**](http://doctor-rose-fic.livejournal.com/). My episode was _Fear Her_ ; thanks to [](http://lorelaisquared.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lorelaisquared.livejournal.com/)**lorelaisquared** for the extension; it’s a shame the Muse decided not to play ball in the end but I can't have everything. 


	2. Prologue

And that's why they're there, the TARDIS, the Doctor and Rose, materialising right in the middle of one of the more non-descript parts of London. Not the Powell Estate this time, but he thinks where they've ended up is safe enough. Nothing sticks out demanding attention, and it feels a bit bland. But Rose's safety is his primary concern these days, which is as it should be. Plenty of time for visiting family later, he thinks, and it isn't as if they haven't seen Jackie comparatively recently.

He chooses to ignore the fact that it's been a sizeable chunk of time since last they've seen Jackie – she's Rose's mother, not his, after all. Instead, he anticipates the pleasure he'll get from the look on Rose's face when she realises where they are. The thought of it fills him with so much warmth that he takes his eyes off the co-ordinates he's setting. It's for no more than half a second, but it's enough. When he opens the TARDIS doors, he finds himself staring at a gate with no room to move.

Least said soonest mended, he thinks, and with a slight adjustment, he soon has them facing the right way. He leaves the TARDIS first, a habit he seems to have got into of late that has nothing to do with making sure that where they have landed is safe for Rose. All right, perhaps it does a bit. He can admit that much to himself at least. He can and will lie through his teeth if anyone else asks, _including_ Rose, but he's not in the business of lying to himself. Not any more.

"So where are we, then?" Rose asks him a short while later. He’d have thought that she’d have realised, but it seems that non-descript parts of London could be anywhere as far as Rose’s concerned.

Eager to hold out on the surprise just a little longer, he turns a million-watt grin on her and continues walking without a word.

"You _do_ know where we are, right?" is the only answer he gets to that. He supposes he ought to have realised that his nonchalance would coax this reaction from her. She knows too well how his usual way of brushing off criticism – about not knowing where they are, especially – is to grin inanely until he's had time to concoct a plausible cover-story.

But this time is different: he knows _exactly_ when and where they are. He finally takes pity on her when he sees an Olympic banner in the street ahead of them.

"The thirtieth Olympiad," he pronounces proudly, and the massive smile that spreads across her face as she digests the news is his reward. She seems delighted and the pleasure he receives from giving _her_ pleasure means he cannot stop himself from grinning at her like some kind of lunatic. Making her happy is something he lives to do, these days – it's a harmless way for him to express how much he loves her without any of the consequences of saying the words.

Those words have been burning inside him, urgent and desperate, in the many long months since he had almost blurted them out to a comparative stranger at the edge of Hell itself. He hasn't found an occasion to say them since, looking for the perfect opportunity that somehow never seems to materialise, but maybe —

"No _way_! Why didn't I think of this? That's great!"

Rose's enthusiasm for their current location bubbles through his reverie and, his attention fully on her again, he starts to share information with her at a rate of knots, desperately trying to be impressive as only he can be. He likes to believe that part of him thinks this is the way to Rose's heart. But when she wanders off to look at something posted on _lampposts_ of all things he forces himself to concede to the possibility that he might, just possibly, be trying too hard. Chattering on about the merits of edible ball-bearings, he moves towards where she's standing, less interested for the moment in what has caught her attention than in keeping her within sight. One of these days she might take him seriously about not wandering off; until then, his peace of mind requires him to follow her practically everywhere.

He knows that this means that he looks, both to casual onlookers on other planets and the likes of Jackie Tyler, as if he is completely emotionally dependent on her. He also knows it makes him look like a lovesick fool.

He's past caring.


	3. Two

He is content, eventually, that whatever has been taking the children isn't human.  The residual energy in the places where the children have been disappearing has him convinced of that.  Whatever it is, it's using an incredible amount of power to do it; an amount unattainable to humans, or at least unattainable in _this_ time period.  So intrigued is he that he almost manages to forget Rose's utter non-reaction to his manly hairy hand and his gentle attempt at flirting. It's a tame attempt by their standards, which is probably why.  He'd make a better fist of forgetting, though, had the next conversation gone more to his liking.  But she's insisting on calling a cat – a cat, of all things – _beautiful_ and ignoring his existence completely in order to concentrate on it.  This is the _last_ time he experiments with back-combing.  She's doing nothing for his ego.

He mutters something about not being a cat person to cover his attitude when he clocks that she's noticed his less-than-impressed frame of mind.  But, when his conscience pricks him, he cannot deny that he is jealous.  Jealous, _him_!  And of a cat, to boot.  He gives himself a mental shake, telling himself that he needs to get it together and _talk_ to Rose.   _Properly_ talk to her.  His mind made up, he walks back towards her intending to broach the subject but then the bloody cat upstages him by disappearing entirely and yet another chance goes begging in a cloud of ion residue.

Three times he's tried inside ten minutes, and to still be nowhere is not improving his mood any.  Perhaps 'subtle' isn't the way forward?  He's buggered if he knows, at this stage, and decides to put a tiny amount of space between them for a short while to give him time to think up a new plan.  He sends her on ahead of him, and it is not until she rounds the corner and is out of sight that he remembers what had happened that last time, on Rekpar.  Swearing comprehensively under his breath, he sets off after her at a canter.

He makes it round the corner just in time; in true Rose fashion, she's managed to find trouble already and she's lying on the floor under attack from some thing or creature that, at this distance, looks like something electrical.

He is not panicking.  He _never_ panics, not even slightly, about Rose.   _I thought I’d stopped lying to myself?_   Anyway, he's here; she'll be fine.

"Stay still!"

A stab of fear shivers through him as he shouts at her, hoping she'll realise it isn't in anger, and scrambles in his coat pocket for the sonic screwdriver.  He is _not_ going to lose her, not _here_ , not like _this_ ; a quick fumble to change the setting and he's aiming for the creature.  Whatever it is, the sonic causes it to convulse briefly and collapse into a small ball that drops into Rose's outstretched hands.  He doesn't care what it is at that point; doesn't care about the ionic residue they've found everywhere or about anything at all really beyond trying to process the fact that Rose has been in trouble, Rose has been attacked, and if he hadn't moved when he had then —

But he _had_ been in time, he tells his brain fiercely, he's saved her and she's fine.  His brain is still sending him messages about checking, about _being sure_ , and for once he mentally tells the rest of creation to look after itself for the next few minutes and reaches out for Rose, pulling her up off the ground and into his arms and holding her there for a few long moments in a tight embrace.  He's losing his touch, a vicious little voice in his mind tells him; he is letting Rose become far too important to him.  So what if he is, he demands, refusing to let himself push his own buttons.  He's just as entitled to love somebody deeply as any other person in the universe.  Maybe even more so.  He's given and given until he can give no more, and still the Universe insists on trying to take more from him.  He's sacrificed everything and everybody else, but he'll _not_ give Rose up too.

"Okay dokey?" he asks Rose, his voice shaking slightly with the effort it takes to keep it level and pitched normally.  She doesn't seem to notice anything different about it but he reiterates his promises in his head that he doesn't intend to let her out of his sight.  If he keeps promising himself, he thinks, perhaps one day yet he might deliver on it.

He takes them back to the TARDIS, ostensibly to analyse the 'scribble creature' but also because he wants to make sure Rose really is all right and the best way for him to do that is to keep her with him.  Her arm links with his as they make their way back but he's not so easily lulled into a false sense of security any more, not where she is concerned.

When they’re back in the TARDIS he puts the strange ball-shaped object to the back of his mind briefly as the perpetual conundrum of how he is expected to deal with his feelings for Rose rears its head again.  He turns it over repeatedly in his mind, only a tiny part of him focussing on the scans of the weird object he is meant to be concentrating on, and so when the TARDIS analysis shows it to be made of nothing more sinister than graphite he feels slightly wrong-footed.

"It's graphite!  Basically the same material as an HB pencil."

"I was attacked by a … pencil creature?"

This thing, created by whom- or whatever has been taking these children, had attacked her, and all he can think of is how he can possibly tell this amazing woman that he is in love with her.  Talk about making a mess of his priorities!  But then something she says about the scribble creature appears to spark something in her mind and, for a moment, everything's about Rose.

"You said it was in the street."

"Probably."

"The girl."  It is, he quickly realises, a statement and not a question.

"Of _course_!"

If it makes sense to her, it makes sense to — but hang on a minute. He has been so focussed in on Rose that he didn't —

"What girl?"

  


  



	4. Three

She looks at him as if he’s finally lost it, and maybe he has.  

The infernal voice inside his head is busy commenting again about how this is a fantastic opportunity to start bringing his relationship with her to the next level and, Rassilon help him, he’s listening to it.  Every atom of his attention is on Rose now but it’s still nothing to do with the mysterious girl she just mentioned, whoever she is.  Every sense of his is alive to the possibilities this moment holds.

“Something about her gave me the creeps,” Rose continues, seemingly oblivious to how he’s suddenly riveted by her, simply staring and unable to drag his eyes off her, even if his life depended on it.  “Even her own mum looked scared of her.”

He’s letting himself lean in towards her.

“Are you deducting?”

_Of course she is, what sort of rubbish was that?_   He notices her looking at him with a frankly devilish glint in her eye and he feels his throat go dry.

“I think I am.”

“Copper’s hunch?”

He practically growls the words at her.  It’s quite possible he’s never been this aroused in his life.   _Oh come on, Rose, don’t make me have to say it._

“Permission to follow it up, Sarge?”

Her voice is nonchalant and full of faux innocence but her eyes and mouth and tongue – dear God, that tongue! – are showing pure devilment.  He knows he should stop trying to ratchet up the situation and should just walk away from her until he can get his body back under control.  He _knows_ all this.  But the knowledge of what he _should_ be doing can’t stop him from leaning forward the infinitesimal number of inches left between them and brushing a kiss over her lips.

He moves away, only a fraction, but doesn’t manage to pull away completely before she manages to pull him back to her and smash her lips into his.  The spell finally breaks and he kisses her back with reckless enthusiasm.  He lets her tongue slide past his lips and sweep through his mouth just before his brain catches up with what’s going on and his own lips and tongue join in the party.

The kiss turns long, wet and frantic before suddenly he drags his lips from hers to place a trail of light kisses, nips and licks down her neck and towards her collarbone.  Now that his restraint is broken he simply cannot get enough of her.

And if the sounds she makes as his fingers find her skin beneath her top and his mouth reaches her collarbone are anything to go by, the feeling’s entirely mutual.  His lips smile against her skin as that thought crosses his mind and he nibbles at her collarbone for a few seconds more before returning his lips to hers.  As he does so, he pulls her down towards him until she is practically on top of him and he’s able to make her completely aware of exactly how much she affects him.  He takes the time to whisper into her ear how glad he is that he’s taken a chance on her – on this – that it is worth more than anything, that he’ll always cherish the memory of this day.

_I’ll lose you long before I’m ready, Rose, but I swear to you I’ll never forget._

With a final, lingering kiss he takes her hand in his and the two of them head further into the ship, where he will willingly lay his soul bare for her to claim him as he will claim her.

It's quite some time before either of them is remotely ready to leave the TARDIS.

  



End file.
